


While You Were Sleeping

by charmedatmidnight



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1930s Stucky, Dry Humping, M/M, Masturbation, Mentions of Sex, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Rutting, Sexual Fantasy, So naturally Bucky jerks off, Steve is asleep, Stucky - Freeform, They hump and it's fun, mentions of blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-02-28 18:17:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2742323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charmedatmidnight/pseuds/charmedatmidnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky Barnes has never been a bad kid. All things considered, he is quite the decent fellow. He attends mass every Sunday and recites his Hail Mary’s. He works harder than most guys this side of Brooklyn to be able to afford to care for his best friend. He saves said best friend’s ass when he gets himself in trouble with all the wrong people. Bucky Barnes has always been a good kid.</p><p>But good kids don’t jerk themselves off to thoughts of their best friend when they’re sharing a bed with them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is for my fabulous girlfriend, [captain--moony](http://captain--moony.tumblr.com/). She's wonderful and also read this over to help me out. You can find me at [winter--padfoot](http://winter--padfoot.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, too!
> 
> Join us for lots of stucky love [here!](http://upallnighttoget-stucky.tumblr.com/)

Bucky Barnes has never been a bad kid. All things considered, he is quite the decent fellow. He attends mass every Sunday and recites his Hail Mary’s. He works harder than most guys this side of Brooklyn to be able to afford to care for his best friend. He saves said best friend’s ass when he gets himself in trouble with all the wrong people. Bucky Barnes has always been a good kid.

But good kids don’t jerk themselves off to thoughts of their best friend when they’re sharing a bed with them.

It isn’t the first time that Bucky’s mind has wandered, that he’s found himself slipping his hand in his pajama bottoms, that he’s wrapped his hand around himself and made himself come, all the while eyeing a sleeping Steve Rogers in the bed next to him. It isn’t the first time he’s had bite the back of his hand and stifle groans while arching up and spilling over his hand. But he reasons with himself: they can only afford one bed, and he’s only human. He has to do it sometime, and he’s rarely ever without Steve by his side. This is his only option, really, and he’ll repent come Sunday. What else is there to do?

It started the same as it always does: Bucky watched Steve, fast asleep, with a faint smile drawn over his mouth. Steve is real pretty, especially when he sleeps, and Bucky can’t help but stare. He can’t help but notice just how long Steve’s eyelashes are, how they brush against his pale cheeks. He can’t help but imagine kissing there – _just there_ – beneath his lashes. He smiles and he can’t help but pepper soft kisses along Steve’s cheekbones in his head, over his temples, across his forehead, down the bridge of his nose, stopping just above his lips. Bucky always tries to stop there, but he can’t. In his mind he presses his lips down against Steve’s and _God_ it’s always perfect. He can almost feel Steve’s lips part, and it sends a jolt straight to his groin.

Bucky huffs and tries to roll over, tries to sleep, for once, but his eyes are glued to Steve’s sleeping form.

Because in his mind Steve is eagerly returning the kiss, his arms coming up to hold onto Bucky and thread through his hair and pull him _closer closer closer_. And of course Bucky complies, shifting to hover over Steve and press their bodies together and flick his tongue across Steve’s lower lip. Steve’s lips part like they always do to welcome him into his mouth, and Bucky lets out a low, needy groan.

Steve stirs, and Bucky is drawn from the fantasy, heart pounding. He shifts uncomfortably, his pajama bottoms beginning to tent beneath the blanket. He is painfully aware of his growing arousal as he stares intently at Steve, but the other man doesn’t awaken. He never does.

So Bucky is above Steve again, kissing him as he’s wanted to – _needed_ to – for years and ages and lifetimes. And Steve is kissing him back just as fervently, like he’s needed it, too; and that’s all Bucky’s ever wanted.

But the fantasy quickly shifts, as it often does, while Bucky’s stuck staring at Steve’s mouth. His lips are parted, and Bucky can’t help but think of just how lovely those lips are. They really are very pretty, he thinks. Pink and plump and even cracked a bit – so fucking perfect (like all of Steve, he thinks).

_How would they look wrapped around my cock?_

Bucky bites his lower lip to suppress a groan as images flood his mind. Little, scrawny Steve has somehow managed to flip them, and he wastes no time in sliding down Bucky’s body to hover over his cock. He licks his lips and grins up at him, and Bucky is positively _aching_ for him. He reaches down to cup the back of Steve’s head, gently guiding him towards himself, whimpering, _“Please, Stevie. Oh please, baby, I need you. I need t’ be inside your mouth. Oh, fuck, please.”_

And Steve is licking over the head of his cock, slowly, like the little cock-tease he’s always been. And Bucky is gasping and rocking his hips up for _more please, baby, more_.

Bucky wets his lips, sliding his hand down to finally – _finally_ – slip his hand into his pajamas. He’s hard as a rock and throbbing, straining against even the loose fabric of his boxers. He takes his time, though. He knows too well that it won’t take long thinking of Steve blowing him, so he barely brushes two fingers up the length of his cock. His breath catches in his throat, eyelids fluttering, but he tries to remain focused on Steve beside him.

But the Steve in his head is doing filthy, ungodly things with his tongue as he takes Bucky into the back of his throat. He’s hollowing his cheeks and tracing patterns over his cock and moaning like a whore, and it’s all Bucky can do to not come right then and there down his throat. Steve is sucking then bobbing his head over him then sucking and expertly taking him right back into his throat.

Bucky very slowly wraps his hand around himself, bringing his other up to clasp his mouth as he tries to remain quiet. He feels like he’s on fire, like he could burst into flames at any moment. So he moves his hand, and it’s the most wonderful thing he thinks he’s ever felt. His eyes roll back into his head – Steve’s mouth moving over his cock burning behind his eyelids – and he holds back a lewd moan.

 _God_ , if only Stevie knew what he was thinking. If only he knew what he was doing…

Eyes blink open and Bucky is once again drinking up Steve’s beautiful face, his beautiful lips that were absolutely made to be all over his body. He imagines what it would be like, what Steve’s lips would feel like kissing every inch of his skin. He imagines what his hands would feel like ghosting over his thighs and up his sides, clutching at his hips, scraping down his chest, his back.

Bucky’s hand is moving over himself quickly, his wrist giving little twists near the head of his cock. Each twist almost elicits a sharp groan, but he manages to keep himself quiet, if only thanks to the hand firmly covering his mouth. His hips give jerky little movements. He wants to fuck his hand. He wants to fuck his hand and pretend he’s got Steve on top of him, that he’s inside of him. He wants to fuck his hand the way he always dreams of fucking Steve. He wants to imagine he’s coming inside of his best friend, filling him up and making him cry out.

His breathing is ragged and something is tightening low in his abdomen, and Bucky can’t tear his eyes away from Steve – sleeping, innocent Steve – and he almost feels guilty but he’s _so damn close, Stevie, you’re gonna make me come you’re so perfect so perfect for me._

And Steve is looking down at him, Bucky’s cock inside of him, hips swaying rocking _just right_ _yes there_. His pupils are blown wide and his hair is sticking to his forehead and he’s clambering at Bucky’s chest as he fucks himself into oblivion, and Bucky is pushing himself up into him, and they’re moving perfectly _so perfectly_ together like they were made to do this.

And Bucky’s arching off the bed and spilling over his hand and all over his boxers and trying not to cry out for Steve – sleeping, innocent Steve completely unaware beside him – because, _God_ , he wants him more than he’s ever wanted anything in his whole entire life, and right now everything is Steve and nothing could possibly ever be more perfect than that.

But as Bucky’s breathing returns to normal and he starts to come back to himself, he’s just in their dark bedroom. He’s hot and sweaty and sticky, and he’s made a mess of himself. Steve stirs again beside him, quietly coughing in his sleep.

Steve is asleep. Like always.

Bucky wipes his hand off on the inside of his boxers and rolls away from Steve, curling up on his side.

Bucky Barnes has never been a bad kid. But good kids don’t jerk themselves off next to their sleeping friend.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's been walking around almost naked all day, so naturally Bucky’s hand is already shoved down his boxers when his head hits the pillow.

Bucky’s hand is already shoved down his boxers when his head hits the pillow. The air is heavy, almost wet with the usual summer heat of Brooklyn, and he had already shucked the rest of his clothing earlier that afternoon. The problem with that, of course, had been that Steve had decided to follow suit. Steve had decided the best option would be to roam about their apartment nearly naked all afternoon, and Bucky hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off him. As if that hadn’t been too much already, Steve had done _things_ ; like touch his arm and sit too close and fling his legs up over his lap and _smile_ like the goddamn image of an angel that he is. And then – and _then_ – Steve had _had_ to take a shower to try to cool down, and the sight of little droplets of water rolling down his pale chest, of his hair clinging to his forehead as he grinned up at Bucky from under those long lashes, of the towel draped so loosely around his hips ( _God_ , there was hardly anything covering him at all) was too much for Bucky. 

He’s been hard since roughly about suppertime.

Steve had retired early, but Bucky waited to lie down until he was sure that Steve was asleep. He only cast a couple of glances over at him once he was lying down before shoving his hand into his boxers. Bucky closes his eyes and his mind immediately pulls up Steve – wet Steve – with only a towel around his waist.

It’s a vivid image, and Bucky doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to forget it. All shame and guilt pushed from his mind for the moment, he begins to work his hand over himself in firm, slow pulls, biting his lip and tilting his head back. Steve is there, behind his eyelids, giving Bucky a coy smile, fluttering his eyelashes, being the tease he always is. Bucky takes a step closer, but Steve shakes his head and – God help him – Bucky freezes. Steve runs a hand down his chest, rolling a pink nipple between his thumb and forefinger, mouth falling open with a little gasp. Bucky wants to bat away his hand and replace it with his mouth, with his teeth, but he remains where he is like a good boy; although he’s already aching.

Bucky bites his lip as he swipes his thumb over the head of his cock, his hips pushing up into the touch, wanting more. But he never gives himself too much right away. He thinks that Steve wouldn’t, either. Steve would take his time. Steve would tease him, take his time, make him beg for _more, Stevie, please_.

So Steve gives him more.

His hand slips further down his chest, over his always too skinny stomach to the top of the towel. Bucky whimpers, whines, reaches out wanting to touch. But Steve raises his eyebrows, hesitates. _“Do you deserve this, Buck?”_ And Bucky nods ferociously because _please I’m good for you, I’ll always be good for you, Stevie please._ It’s satisfactory, apparently, because the towel is dropping and Steve is naked before him and, honest to God, it’s the most beautiful sight Bucky’s ever seen. His body still sheens from the shower and probably sweat from the humidity. He’s small as ever but _so beautiful_ , and Bucky wants him, needs him like he needs to breathe.

He wets his lips as Stevie’s hand slides down to just above his hard cock, and Bucky’s palming himself through his boxers. Steve’s gaze flicks down. His hand wraps around himself and he groans, head tilting back. 

Bucky’s hips jerk up into his hand, and he’s biting his lip hard to keep quiet as his hand moves over his cock. His breathing is already ragged and louder than it should be – he’s glad that Steve is a heavy sleeper. He wants to fuck his hand, though. He wants to, because Stevie is turning around and leaning over the arm of the couch, holding himself up with one hand while the other works over his cock. His head is dropped forward and he’s pushing his ass back towards Bucky, begging, “ _God, Buck, want ya in me. Please. Please, Bucky, give it t’ me real good.”_

His eyes blink open as Steve stirs beside him and rolls onto his side, facing away from him, with a little noise and a huff. He tries to still, but his hand keeps moving slowly – so slowly – over his cock. Steve isn’t awake, but he’s shifting, trying to get comfortable, Bucky thinks. So he waits, aching, as his Stevie whispers in his ear. _“Whattya waitin’ for, Buck? I want you in me. I want you t’ fuck me. Fuck me real good, nice and hard. Like with your dames. Ya gonna fuck me like one of your dames, Buck? Make me yours? I wanna be yours.”_

Bucky’s eyes have fallen shut again as Steve pushes himself back towards him, hand working over his cock. He steps forward and brings his hands to Steve’s waist, and he runs his hands up over his sides, rough callouses ghosting over his skin.

His hand twists over himself in his boxers, and he huffs out a quiet moan. Again, Steve shifts besides him, but Bucky doesn’t notice.

He doesn’t notice because behind his eyelids he’s working Steve open and Steve is moaning and pushing back onto his fingers and Bucky is kissing across the base of his spine and nibbling at the pale flesh and Steve – _oh God_ – Steve is begging and fucking himself on Bucky’s fingers.

Bucky makes a loose fist and pushes his cock up into it as he pushes into his Stevie, wrapping an arm around his waist and pressing his chest against his back to hold him close. Steve cries out for him, and Bucky whimpers because _Jesus Christ, Stevie, y’ feel so good_. And they’re moving and Bucky’s biting, sucking, marking the back of Steve’s shoulder, leaving dark bruises that everyone’ll see the next day. Everyone’ll wonder, and Bucky will just smirk because Steve’s _his_. And Steve knows that. He knows it as he clings to Bucky’s arm around him and rocks his hips, fucks himself on Bucky’s cock. And Bucky is groaning, murmuring against Steve’s skin, forehead pressing to the back of his neck as his hips snap into him.

And Bucky is fucking his hand a little too vigorously and breathing a little too loudly and moaning not quietly enough. But he can’t help it. He _needs_ this, _needs_ to fuck Steve and make him feel good and make him _his_. And as Steve cries out his name and spills over his hand, Bucky gasps _Stevie_ and arches off the bed and comes in his boxers, tingling heat bursting throughout his body.

But beside him Steve is shifting and his breathing has quickened and he tenses with a fitful little gasp, and Bucky is pulled from blissful relaxation with sickening fear in his stomach and the thought that his best friend is having an asthma attack in his sleep.

“Stevie?” he asks, rolling over and pushing himself up, voice composed, “You okay? Can you breathe? Are you okay, pal?”

“Yeah. ‘m fine.” Steve’s voice is scratchy. Bucky reaches up to rest a hand on Steve’s arm – he’s already reciting Hail Mary’s in his head. He’s still tense, but Bucky can feel him relax a bit beneath his hand. “I’m fine, Buck. Really.”

Bucky looks him over once, focusing on his breathing, and gives Steve’s arm a little squeeze before laying back down. The fear in his stomach dissipates; it was probably just a nightmare, he thinks. “Well, get some sleep,” he says with a small smile and rolls over to face away from Steve.

“Yeah. You, too.”

Bucky curls up on his side, listening for Steve’s breathing to grow steady, but it doesn’t.

“Buck?”

“Yeah?” 

Silence.

“Goodnight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's definitely going to be a part 3 sometime in the near future!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What were ya doing?" Steve asks. Bucky doesn't have an answer.

Bucky’s hand is moving quickly over himself, his breathing ragged, as Steve pounds into him behind closed eyelids. He can only imagine how good it would feel to be stretched around Steve’s cock, to have him moving inside of him, to be made his and only his. God, the thought alone is enough to bring Bucky right to the brink of orgasm; and it does. His gives a sharp pull and he’s coming, muscles clenching as he groans softly through gritted teeth, head tilted back to expose his skin to the heavy summer night air. He spills over his hand with eyes squeezed shut – he wants to keep the image of Steve hovering over him, _inside_ of him, as long as he can.

“You having a bad dream, Buck?”

The voice is soft beside him, but it’s enough to pull him from his waning orgasm. His eyes blink open to Steve rolling over to face him. His skin is tinged pink, Bucky notes as he tries to steady his breathing.

“Uh, yeah. Don’t remember what it’s about,” he answers, feigning a small smile. Steve’s eyes seem to flit about his features with an almost calculating gaze, but he doesn’t say what he’s thinking.

Instead, he licks his lips and asks, “Anything I can do?”

Bucky studies him for a moment, ignoring the barrage of dirty requests that flood his mind. ( _Kiss me. Touch me. Suck me off. Get on top of me. Fuck me, please._ ) He simply shakes his head and again fakes a little smile. “No, I… I’m fine.” His breathing has mostly returned to normal, at least.

But Steve just stares at him. His eyes search his face, flicking down to the blanket every so often. Bucky doesn’t know what he’s thinking. It’s hard to tell with Steve, he thinks. Sometimes he seems to know exactly what the other man is thinking, can peg it down almost exactly, but other times it seems he hardly knows him, hardly knows what goes on in his head. This is one of those moments, and Bucky can’t even begin to discern what he might be thinking. So he gives him a sigh and a half-hearted grin and shifts to roll over when Steve opens his mouth.

“What were ya doing?” he asks.

“What?”

Bucky doesn’t think he’s heard him right, but Steve repeats, “What were ya doing?”

He doesn’t have a good answer for him. So he’s quiet. He just stares at Steve, eyes wide and – probably – a little bit panicked. There isn’t an easy answer, not even one he can quickly come up with on the spot because, to be honest, he wants to tell Steve the truth. He _wants_ to tell him that he was thinking about him fucking himself and it made him come so hard he saw stars. He _wants_ to tell him that the very thought of him touching his body gets him so hard he’s aching. He _wants_ to tell him that he just wants to be with him for the rest of his life. But he can’t. So he says nothing.

Steve watches him, waiting, before he lets out a deep sigh and props himself up on an elbow, head resting in his hand. “It’s fine, you know,” he says, and Bucky can feel his stomach churning. Steve pauses for a moment before continuing. “It’s natural. Human nature and all that. You don’t gotta hide it.” Bucky shifts uncomfortably, _finally_ pulling his hand from his pajama bottoms. “I mean, if _I_ was…yanking one off, you wouldn’t care, would ya?”

Bucky swallows.

“I mean, if _I_ was jerking myself off next to you while you slept, it wouldn’t mean nothing, right? Wouldn’t be bad or nothing,” Steve continues, eyes glued to Bucky’s; Bucky can’t look away. “If _I_ was thinking about…fucking someone or…or _getting_ fucked…”

Bucky feels his cock twitch as the words leave Steve’s mouth.

“Getting fucked real good,” Steve continues, expression unreadable, “You ever wanted that, hmm? To get fucked so hard you can’t walk straight the next day?”

Bucky wants to shake his head, to tell Steve to just go to bed, but he nods. God help him, he nods. Steve smiles.

“I thought so.”

Before Bucky can respond, before he can really even process what’s happening, Steve has pushed aside the blankets and moved to hover over him, a wicked smile stretching over his face.

“Y’wanna get fucked, Buck?”

“Yeah,” comes Bucky’s hoarse answer, and he’s not entirely sure the words actually came from him. But Steve’s smile only grows wider, blond hair falling into his eyes.

“You coulda just asked.”

Just like that, Steve’s leaning down to press his lips against Bucky’s in a kiss so sweet and intentional that Bucky thinks he could die right there. A small noise catches in his throat and his hands come to rest on Steve’s waist – _right where they belong_ , a voice echoes in his head. Steve braces himself with a hand on either side of Bucky’s head as their lips move together; slowly, almost tentatively, testing the waters on something that couldn’t feel more right. There’s little resistance when Bucky’s tongue darts out across Steve’s lower lip, and he’s welcomed into the warmth of his mouth with a quiet hum.

It’s nearly impossible for Bucky to process what’s happening, but his body knows what to do. His arms wrap around Steve’s small frame to pull him closer, and his tongue dances over Steve’s. He thinks, briefly, that he’s dreaming. Dreaming or dead. This is too wonderful to be real.

But Steve pulls back after a moment and rests his forehead against Bucky’s, and he’s breathing, “You jerk.”

“Punk,” comes the automatic response, followed by a smile and breathless laugh.

“Y’coulda just asked.”

Bucky’s mouth opens to shoot back some clever retort when Steve’s hips are rolling down against his own, and anything he might have said is erased from his mind. Instead, his head tips back and eyes flutter shut with a low groan. Steve smiles, tilting his head down to brush his lips against the exposed skin of Bucky’s neck. Bucky is already on fire. His body is already aching for Steve, for every inch of him.

“Didn’t think I could,” Bucky breathes, voice hitching as Steve’s hips again roll down into his. His lips have attached themselves to his neck, and he’s biting and sucking and sending shivers through his body. “Didn’t think you’d—“

There’s a sharp roll of hips against his own, and Bucky moans, eyes rolling back into his head.

“Ya always coulda asked,” Steve huffs above him, “Massive idiot.”

“ _You’re_ a massi— _Oh, fuck, Steve_.”

Steve’s lips are again pressed to his own and their hips are rocking together, and Bucky can feel Steve’s cock right alongside his own through his underwear. He wants nothing more than to rip their underwear off and pull Steve onto his cock, to fuck him until they both come screaming, then pull Steve between his legs so he can fill him up. God, the thought sends a jolt straight to Bucky’s cock, and he’s groaning as Steve presses himself down against him.

“Yeah, just like that,” comes Steve’s voice – breathy and _so fucking hot_ – above him. Bucky looks up at him, and he thinks he’s never seen anything quite as beautiful as this. Steve’s eyelids are heavy, his lips parted, forehead sticky with sweat. His cheeks are pinker, and the flush has crept down his neck and blotted his pale chest. He’s making little noises, soft little noises meant only for him. “ _God, Bucky… Oh, Buck, yes…”_

Bucky lifts his head to press their lips together, and his hips are pushing up against Steve, and _fuck_ they move so perfectly together and he’s hardly even in his head, anymore. Steve is moaning into their kiss, and Bucky is nearly whimpering. He knows he isn’t going to last, and he thinks that Steve is getting close, too. They are rutting frantically together, wanting and needing every last bit of each other. There are clumsy kisses and teeth clashing and noses bumping, and little smiles and whispered _please yes more I need more I want you_.

Bucky’s head drops and Steve’s eyes open, and they look at one another, and Steve is _so goddamn beautiful_ that Bucky can’t stand it. He rolls his hips up hard against Steve’s and then he’s coming, and somewhere in the distance he can hear Steve, too.

_“Stevie.”_

_“Bucky.”_

It seems like years and ages and eternities filled with heavy breaths and sweat-drenched skin and a body flopping atop him just how it should before Bucky begins to come back to himself. His arms are draped around Steve’s body, and Steve is everywhere. Bucky nuzzles the top of the other man’s head, absently pressing a kiss to mussed hair. There is a quiet hum in response, then silence.

Comfortable silence.

Bucky doesn’t know how long it is before they separate, Steve sidling off to curl into his side, and it doesn’t take much longer for them to fall asleep without a word needing to be said.

Bucky falls asleep with a smile on his face.


End file.
